Whatever Remains: A Vampire Sherlock Fic
by 221bTimelady
Summary: The family of recently deceased Tony Kepler has reason to believe he isn't really dead. Intrigued & curious, Sherlock accepts the case. But will his investigation take a deadly turn? I typed this up a few months ago while on a vampire!sherlock kick. I was trying to give an origin story, so it'll be short-ish. And this is/was my first EVER attempt at writing fanfic, so enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**Ch. 1**

When speaking with Kepler's family, no one could even think of a suspect worth interrogating for the stealing of Tony's now inanimate body. Everyone simply loved him. His family told about how he led a perfectly content life before his untimely death: nice house, good job, good pay, and perfectly sociable.

Although, there was one interesting piece of information. Cressie, Tony's sister, had decided to donate blood at St. Bart's after her dear brother's death. As he was said to have died of leukemia, she wanted to help prevent her family's tragedy from moving on to others.

As Cressie settled into a chair before the nurses, she noticed one particular nurse who remarkably resembled her newly deceased brother. Was he still alive somehow? Unlike the other nurses, the man didn't even have a name tag, so there was no way of confirming Cressie's growing curiosity.

The man started over to her as he focused, head downward, on jerking on his latex gloves. Upon looking up, the nurse briefly gazed at Cressie, wide-eyed. She did just the same. But he had acted almost horrified, as if he'd seen a ghost. As if he'd realized just who he was approaching. The strange man quickly spun around, and hurried toward a fellow nurse.

After exchanging a few private words, he nodded weakly and escorted himself - or rather, paced himself - out of the room.

What had she done to bother him out of no where? Why had he bared the same face as Tony? What if he really was Tony? If so, what was he doing working as a nurse at a blood drive? These are the trivial questions that spun through Cressie's mind as a different nurse took over, and punctured her forearm with the needle.

Sherlock would've simply dismissed this as another regular, boring grave-robbery incident and moved on, but obviously, there was more to it somehow. And this Cressie girl seemed to have a decent-enough mindset and tone as she told her story. Most certainly not delusional.

Needless to say, he accepted the case.

Once they were back in the flat, John called St. Bart's to ask if anybody by the name of Tony Kepler worked or had worked there.

Inevitably, the answer was yes. Although, he apparently hadn't shown up for work ever since a young lady at the blood drive startled him immensely.

"Between you and me," the lady on the other end said. "I think the boss'll just throw 'im if he doesn't come back to work soon. Kind of a good thing, too. He's quite an odd one."

"Yeah, I know the type," John glanced up at Sherlock, who was using his microscope in the kitchen. "Thanks for the help."

He pressed "End" and set the phone down on the side table. A brief silence followed as he relaxed in his chair a little.

"…Well?"

John sat upright again. "He works there, but hasn't been at work since he spotted Cressie and ran out."

"Interesting," Sherlock said, dilating the microscope's focus. "But don't get your hopes up."

"What would I be getting my hopes up for?" John questioned.

"Considering over half the others working on this case are predicting that this is some kind of supernatural dead-man walking, perhaps you could hope for something out-of-the-ordinary for once. People always long for something greater than their abilities allow at some point or another, after all."

John was about to make a comment about how ridiculous that idea was, and how he would never think such a thing, but he could clearly see Sherlock was busy with some kind of experiment. Besides, arguing over this wouldn't even be worth it - seeing as he was, actually, somewhat wishful


	2. Chapter 2

**Ch. 2**

That night, Sherlock and John took a cab to the graveyard. They walked steadily toward the vacant casket that Tony Kepler was meant to occupy.

Sherlock pulled out his magnifier from his coat pocket and observed the inner cushioning and edges of the coffin. A few minutes passed.

"Anything I can do?"

"No."

"…Then why did you invite me here?"

"It was just an invitation - meaning it wasn't mandatory. Meaning it could be declined," Sherlock replied sternly. "Besides, I can enjoy an audience sometimes, can't I?"

John lowered his eyebrows. "I'm sorry, are you suggesting that all I should do is stand around and watch?"

"No, of course not… Although that's just the frailty of genius, it needs an audience."

He gave Sherlock an annoyed look, although he was too focused on his work to glance back. "Yes, yes, I suppose it does… So, this was all a waste of my time, then?"

Sherlock glared at him from the corner of his eye, but didn't answer.

John inhaled deeply and irritably. "I'm going back to the flat."

"Have fun!" Sherlock replied, mockingly.

John only marched away as Sherlock remained focused on his observations.

At least 20 minutes later, Sherlock was still working his way around the coffin when suddenly he thought he heard the startling sound of a woman shrieking in the far, far distance. He paused and listened. But Sherlock didn't hear anything more.

He simply went on with his work, supposing he just needed more sleep. Besides, if the scream were in fact real, the source of the shrieking would probably turn up in a case somewhere along his way.

Although, not long after, he started to hear the sound of leaves crunching on the ground.

The sound was moving closer, and closer. Louder and louder. As if someone were walking toward him through the scatters of autumn leaves.

_Who the hell would be out here this late?_ Sherlock thought. Then he realized just who it might be.

Sherlock stood up and sighed, "Okay, John. I apologize for my snide comment earli - "

A bloody, battered, freshly deceased body was tossed in front of him, making a sickly mixture of a crack and a thump noise as it impacted the ground.

Baffled, and a little reluctant, Sherlock slowly turned up his head.

It wasn't John.

It was Tony Kepler


	3. Chapter 3

**Ch. 3**

"It's really a shame, isn't it?" Tony began, strolling toward Sherlock. "I mean, who would devastate a family like this? Just… taking their beloved son?"

Sherlock could see his contracted pupils and bright, golden eyes in the shadows. They almost… glowed in the dark. And they strongly resembled color contacts. Did they offer glow-in-the-dark contacts?

_Forget it, that's irrelevant._

He glanced at Kepler's hands. His fingernails were much sharper than the average man's. As he came closer and closer, Sherlock could clearly see that they weren't fingernails, but claws.

"Oh, poor, poor Kepler…" he continued. "He led such a good life, too. It's just a shame he was forced to leave it behind in this way…"

The sorrow on Tony's face grew into wonder. "Or… was he?"

He stepped more into the moonlight, revealing a dangerous smirk made up of red-stained teeth, and two particularly sharp canines. Sharp enough to be fangs.

Sherlock stayed silent. Honestly, he really didn't know how to respond.

Was this body a result of cannibalism? No, not quite cannibalism. There were only a couple punctures visible on the body's neck, around the jugular. But there was obviously an extreme loss of blood. Interesting. A murderous psychopath, perhaps? It had to be one of those. But what was with this get-up? The supposed contacts, the supposedly fake costume fangs and the claws. Was this an attempt at adding to the affect somehow? To make Sherlock fear him more?

How odd and unsettling. None of the details given by Tony's family and friends seemed to fit together at this point. This eccentric man standing before him certainly did not come across as friendly, outgoing or successful.

This just didn't make any logical sense at that point, so Sherlock finally decided to verbalize the only word going through his mind:

"What?"

Kepler sighed, annoyed, as if the conclusion to what he was onto should've been obvious by now. "Ah, yes. I suppose you would be confused. Typical human, I suppose," Kepler said. "Allow me to explain."

The man's "fangs," "claws," eyes and all reverted to a normal state of just fingernails, dull green eyes, and a straight, white set of teeth. He put his hands on Sherlock's shoulders and led him to a near-by bench to sit in.

Tony casually plopped down onto it, whereas Sherlock took his time, eyes fixed on the mysterious man, examining from head to toe. Tony just sat there, smiling at him.

They were quiet for a minute, allowing Sherlock to examine a little more, when Tony broke the silence.

"I know you're the type to disregard any unrealistic explanation. And I completely understand, I mean, that's a good way to look at some things. But only _some_ things," he inquired. "And Sherlock… this won't be one of those things,"

He smirked again.

"Now, I know what you're thinking. 'This guy's insane. Those claws are fake. Those must be contacts,' etcetera, etcetera,"

Sherlock slightly raised an eyebrow.

"But just throw all your logic out of that average little brain of yours… and listen."

Sherlock's nose twitched and he scowled at his remark. He did not enjoy being portrayed as normal-minded, nor had he, actually, been portrayed in that way before.

"Now!" Tony stood up and clapped his hands together.

"Do you know a man by the name of Moriarty?


	4. Chapter 4

**Ch. 4**

The name made Sherlock freeze in place. He silently reflected on the countless hours spent solving his puzzles, and answering his phone as hostage after another distraught hostage would call him along the way, delivering clues. The night by the pool, where Moriarty revealed himself at last, and both he and John's lives were threatened.

"Of course." Sherlock stated bluntly.

"Oh, he speaks! On the other hand, good. He left an impression." Kepler teased. "Anyways, the day I got news that it was affirmative that I was to die soon, I was, honestly, terrified. I didn't want to die, since I was still just a human, but I knew that my time was definitely coming. Then one day, an odd man had visited me. An odd man with an offer."

"Moriarty." Sherlock stated.

"Correct!" Tony responded. "So, Moriarty had come across my mum crying in the lobby once she heard news of my oncoming death. He overheard her pouring over how unfair and unfortunate this all was, given how happy and successful I had been and hoped to be in life. So he asked a nurse for my room number, and we had a little discussion."

Sherlock was listening intently. His legs were crossed and his hands were folded, and his eyes were narrowed. "Go on."

"Yes, well, I remember precisely what he had said. He walked right on into my room, and he said, 'What if I offered you the chance to be cleverer, stronger, faster, and more cunning than ever before? That you can live forever - without the burden of leukemia? Would you take it?' And I, of course, said I would've jumped at the chance."

Tony finally turned up his head. A grin spread across his face, his fangs clearly visible now as they rested slightly over his lower lip, his claws extended, and his eyes gradually brighter as he looked over at Sherlock.

"Before I knew it, I was a vampire."

Sherlock sat back a little, contemplating whether or not this man was serious. No. He couldn't have been serious. Vampires were not real, no matter if Sherlock "threw out his logic" or not. And Kepler was surely not going to alter this belief.

"Although, there was a catch to it. Intelligence, athleticism, and immortality don't come free, you know." Tony added. "First off, the simple price of my humanity. Of course. Second, I would be too eager to drink my family and friends' blood, so I had to fake my death - which was easy, since I was dying anyways - and then I needed to become his apprentice and be taught by him until I was able to go off on my own."

He turned to Sherlock. "I'm assuming you were studying my coffin due to my sister's concerns?"

Sherlock was about to nod his head "yes," but Kepler turned away again and went on as if he didn't need his answer.

"Since I was still learning how to wrestle my prey and all, Moriarty suggested I go to work at a blood drive that weekend and just drink from the bags there. And of course, Cressie would just so happen to be there."

He put his face into one of his hands and rubbed his forehead. "It's a good thing he also suggested that I always 'forget' to attach my name tag, otherwise I'd be found out for sure."

"But you're being 'found out' right now. You're confessing this whole story to me." Sherlock informed.

"Well, yeah, but you'll be dead by the end of the night so I've got nothing to lose."

Sherlock just turned up his head a little, and gazed down. He wore a look of terror - with just a hint of realization.

"Ohh… I suppose this brings me to my third point. Well, Moriarty also needed to train me for an important mission he had in mind - he taught me how to hunt down the most difficult prey."

"Oh really?" Sherlock replied.

"Yes, really…" Tony scowled at him, growling under his breath and clenching his knuckles. He taught me how to hunt _you_, Sherlock Holmes."

It suddenly occurred to Sherlock that this was a serious matter.

As Tony bared his fangs and hissed, Sherlock stumbled off the bench and ran away as fast as he could. Kepler swiftly took off after him


	5. Chapter 5

**Ch. 5**

They sprinted and sprinted. Yet, no matter how hard Sherlock ran, he would still be right on his tail attempting to slash him with his claws (but only succeeding at tearing his coat) and growling in annoyance.

Finally, Sherlock could think well enough to reach deep into his coat and pull out a gun he had taken beforehand for safe measure. Courtesy of John's desk drawer. Thank God.

He glanced behind himself a few times, keeping an eye on Kepler and closely hiding the gun in front of him as they dashed over and through the gravestones.

Then, hoping for the best, Sherlock whipped out the handgun, aimed it as steadily and accurately as he could, and pulled the trigger.

He missed.

"Damn it!" Sherlock exclaimed as he peeked behind him again, still rushing past the headstones but making headway toward the woods.

Tony looked as angry and determined as ever. For a second, Sherlock even thought, _This is it. This is the night I die. _But he automatically disregarded this thought - he had to focus. He had to keep going.

In a brief moment of truth, he repeated his previous actions and fired away at Tony.

"AUGH!"

Sherlock didn't even have to turn around to know that he was right on target this time. But he kept running. He couldn't afford to put himself at risk by being anywhere near him.

Eventually, Sherlock definitely couldn't hear the sound of leaves rapidly crunching behind him or growling, so he slowed himself to a halt.

He scanned behind and around him. There was no sign of Kepler, and the only sound he could hear was the wind rustling more leaves off the trees and his heart pumping actively.

_Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God,_ he thought, as this was the only thing his racing mind could formulate.

Baffled, exhausted, and breathing heavily, Sherlock weakly started walking the other way.

He almost rammed into the pale, dark creature waiting before him.

"You know, this is truly getting to be a waste of my time. Do you know how hard it is to get medical attention when you can't even go out into the sun?" Tony asked, gesturing toward a small bullet hole where his heart should be.

"But I've gotta give you some credit - you've lasted a whole helluva lot longer than almost all my victims… You're smart."

It took a few seconds for Sherlock to take in the fact that Tony was still living. Talking. Standing there before his very eyes.

"Incredible… How are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"The speed, the eyes, the nails… How are you still alive?"

Kepler just rolled his eyes, laughing in ridicule. "Haven't I discussed this? How much proof do you need?"

His laughter faded away as he took a step closer.

Sherlock took a step back. "But vampires aren't can't be, they're… they're mythical creatures! They always have been!"

"Well then, tell me. What can you come up with, Mr. Holmes? What other solution can there be?"

Sherlock looked down for a moment, thinking. Kepler waited. They stood in silence.

_When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth._

And truthfully, he couldn't think of another solution.

He looked up at Tony with a look of utter confusion and loss for words.

"I don't know."

Tony smiled at him. "Alrighty then…" He stepped closer to Sherlock with his hands behind his back and gazed down at the ground. He then brought his attention back up to Sherlock and glared deep into his eyes.

"Let do this, then, eh?


	6. Chapter 6

**Ch. 6**

Sherlock tried to run again, but Kepler simply grabbed him by the coat and thrusted him against a tree behind them.

"Now, now, let's both relax! You don't want to spend the last minutes of your life running, after all," he said as he strolled up to Sherlock and placed a hand over his throat.

Sherlock tried struggling out of his grip as Tony only sighed reminiscently.

"We had fun tonight, didn't we?" he said as his head moved in on Sherlock's neck.

"I can imagine the newspapers now: Just this morning, local detective and internet phenomenon, Sherlock Holmes, was found murdered in Dave Yoland Cemetery - "

Tony examined the tree they rested on, looking up and down. "… - near a tall oak tree. Holmes suffered from two fatal punctures to the neck… and an _extreme_ loss of blood."

He hissed as his tongue traced his fangs in thirst.

Sherlock gave him an abrupt look, then hastily tried to escape yet again.

Once he was free of Kepler's restraint, he made a break toward the woods and tried to scale up yet another tall oak tree.

Tony was quick to follow, and swiftly ended up but a few arms below him. Alarmed at his speed, but still determined to move as far away as possible, Sherlock continued to clamber up the oak.

"Sit still, would you?" Tony called up. But Sherlock kept climbing, which ended up with little to no success as Tony instantly appeared right above him.

Sherlock sighed in exhaustion and doubt, "Why does Moriarty want me killed so badly?"

"You heard his warning, Sherlock: Back off. You know, I'm surprised that you don't actually consider this a courtesy. I mean, he could've killed you right then and there - he was going to, actually. He only sent me to come back and finish the job."

Tony suddenly ended up next to Sherlock. He pushed him off the branch, to which Sherlock reacted by grappling back onto it.

As his feet dangled, he looked down and suddenly noticed how high up he had gotten. They weren't near the top, but they weren't near the bottom either. If Sherlock were to let go, he wasn't sure if it would be happy outcome.

He peered back up, and Kepler lunged into him without warning, knocking him off his life line.

They hit branch after branch. Sherlock could feel twigs scratching at his limbs and his face, fractures and broken bones, and even had a close call with the end of a sharp, average-sized branch. Although it left him with a wide gash on his forehead, he had more important things to focus on at the moment.

Finally, the two men braced themselves for impact. But luckily, it wasn't Earth but a plush pile of raked-up leaves that they had landed upon.

Although the pile didn't exactly relieve the great force, or the fact that Sherlock was thoroughly broken, bruised and sore, it was still a step up from the hard soil. And Sherlock couldn't help but feel grateful.

Tony tackled him and pinned him against the ground unexpectedly.

"Ugh, man! It's like I always get the feisty ones, you know? I can't just… sink my teeth in anymore!" he said. He then looked back down at Sherlock coldly.

"Well. Goodbye."

In an instant, an angry hiss rung in Sherlock's ears and a sharp pain rippled from his neck and out to the rest of his body.

He hollered and flailed and tried to just shake Tony off him somehow, but it was no use. No one would hear his cries, and his injuries weren't helping anything. Tony wouldn't budge.

Sherlock could feel himself getting colder now, his blood draining. He was gradually becoming more feeble (than he already was) as well, for he wasn't trying as hard to remove Kepler. Over the course of what seemed like forever, Sherlock noticed he had completely lost control over most his body, and wasn't even moving anymore. He was totally numb.

_This is it. This is the night I die._

He slowly started to close his eyes when he noticed something. No weight was being put on him anymore. His neck was still sore from what he could feel, but no one was jabbing him there. He weakly opened his eyes again.

Just as he had guessed, Kepler wasn't there. How relieving.

Although, he did hear the muffled noise of two men wrestling somewhere beside him, and a final burst of pain in his veins just before he drifted into his rest


	7. Chapter 7

**Ch. 7**

When Sherlock finally gained consciousness, he found himself in St. Bart's Hospital. It still appeared to be dark out, so it must have been the same night.

_What? I'm alive. How am I alive?_

He felt outrageously tired and weak. Saying that his body hurt badly would be a complete understatement. Especially his neck. He tried to move, but he just couldn't at all.

"Don't get up," a familiar voice said. It felt like a voice he hadn't heard in forever.

"You've got broken arms, ribs, toes - broken everything, quite frankly."

It was John. Sherlock could've jumped up and hugged him after the night he had endured, but obviously he couldn't under the circumstances.

"It was getting late, so I thought I should head back to the cemetery and check on you. I thought I heard you shouting, so I started to run and by the time I got there, you were a bloody mess and Kepler was licking it away. Truly disgusting."

Sherlock slowly opened his eyes.

"John… Tony Kepler… he's - "

"A murderous psychopath? Yes, obviously. He was this close to killing you last night." John stated. "And I am… terribly sorry, Sherlock, I should have ever left you on your own out there."

"No, it's fine… It's really… fine."

"What? No it's not! Look at yourself, Sherlock! You're a complete wreck! This would've never happened if I were there to help. This could take years to fix up!"

Sherlock closed his eyes in weariness and slight despair. They sat in silence for a while.

"Look, I'm sorry. You can explain what happened later. For now, you just need as much rest as possible," John said. "Feel better, soon, alright?"

He then stood up, and walked out of the room.

After that, it didn't take long for Sherlock to drift into another deep sleep.

• • •

Sherlock awoke to the startling noise of his heart monitor making a continuous "beep" noise.

A few doctors and nurses raced in.

"Sir, are you okay?"

"Do you have any chest pains?"

"Are you having any trouble breathing?"

Sherlock kept advising them that he was completely fine. No one argued, so they must have agreed.

"Our sincerest apologies, Mr. Holmes. This one must be faulty. Think you could live long enough for one of us to find a replacement?" one of the doctors joked.

"Yes, yes, go on ahead." Sherlock replied with a smile, and with that they all piled out of the room.

That was when he noticed how much better he felt since the last time he woke up. He could actually move around. Maybe not enough to stand on his feet quite yet, but this was still good progress. Curious over what they must put into their medications, Sherlock slipped back into his slumber.

• • •

Awake again. He felt really hot. Almost sweating. He looked over at the room's digital thermometer.

_Strange. Only 64ºF._

Sherlock stood up and stretched. It was really bright out this morning, so he decided to approach the window and close the curtain so he could rest better.

But the closer he got, the more it burned.

Quickly, Sherlock closed the curtain and moved away.

He then realized he was standing. Still a little sore, but he could barely feel the pain anymore.

_Do they perform surgery when their patients sleep?_

Sherlock shrugged it off, and quietly curled up back into bed


	8. Chapter 8

**Ch. 8**

By the second night, Sherlock felt good as new. Literally. He felt the energy of a child, yet acquired the same intelligence and potential as a philosopher.

It was a strange feeling and he honestly began to wonder what the nurses must have been doing to him when he wasn't conscious.

Sherlock got up and turned towards the bathroom, when he heard another familiar voice at the door.

"Feeling better, I see."

He stopped in his tracks and turned toward the doorway.

"Ah, yes I am. Thank you, Mycroft."

Mycroft smiled, "This is quite a quick recovery, don't you think? John had informed me that you were so broken, you could've been Humpty Dumpty. Yet here you are."

"I've been pondering about this healing myself," Sherlock replied. "Have there been any new chemicals or anything being put into these drugs?"

"I would know if there were. Perhaps this is just some sort of a miracle recovery. …Shouldn't you be getting some rest?" Mycroft questioned.

"Do I look like I need any?"

He eyed him up and down. It reminded Sherlock of how Tony admired the oak before he had scrambled away.

"No. I suppose not… Anyways, I just thought I should check up on my little brother. Although it seems you're doing fine, so I'll be on my way."

"Thank you. Send the queen my love."

Mycroft scowled at Sherlock. "For the last time, it's a minor position…"

After that, he was out the door, and John entered instead.

"Wow, you're standing. That's good. So anyways, I was just speaking with Lestrade, and - oh my god."

John froze in place and stared at him.

"What?" Sherlock said.

"W-what's wrong with your bloody eyes?"

"…What?" Sherlock repeated, and hurried into the bathroom.

He looked up at the mirror, but to his horror, there was no reflection.

John followed him inside, and realized the same thing.

"Sherlock, why aren't you showing up in the mirror? What's going on?"

"I don't know!" he responded frantically. "John, quick! Tell me what my eyes look like!"

"Uh, they're… they're golden and a little… glow-y. And your pupils might be shrunken drown more than they should be."

Just like Kepler's.

Sherlock was mortified.

_Oh God… This is the last thing I need to deal with. I'm already just trying to forget this whole thing. And now this. _Sherlock thought.

"Wait… My teeth," Sherlock said aloud.

John looked at him as if he were crazy. "…You're teeth? What about your teeth?"

"How are my teeth? What do they look like?"

Sherlock opened his mouth and it took less than a second for John to react.

"What the - ARE THOSE FANGS? Like, real fangs?" he shouted.

Sherlock immediately felt his canines with his tongue. Extremely sharp.

_What the hell did he do to me_


	9. Chapter 9

**Ch. 9**

"That's it. This is insane. Sherlock, take a seat somewhere. Let me find a stethoscope or something," John instructed, and began looking around the room.

Sherlock walked over to his hospital bed and plopped down onto it. He suddenly had a short flashback of Tony plopping down onto the bench in the graveyard. This startled him, and he shook the memory away at once.

"Found one." John declared, and paced himself over to Sherlock.

He placed the headset into his ears, and placed the diaphragm over his heart.

He seemed to struggle to hear anything. After a minute or two, he finally took off the stethoscope.

"I don't know how, but I don't hear your heart beating. I dunno if this is a faulty one or what, but…"

Sherlock mentally recalled how he woke up to his heart monitor just the day before.

"_Our sincerest apologies, Mr. Holmes. This one must be faulty."_

His eyes widened. Could it be?

Sherlock took two fingers and put them against his neck. He could feel the fatal bite mark Kepler left…

But he couldn't feel a pulse.

_No, I'm not dead… I'm breathing and thinking and moving right this very moment._

Another flashback. Even after his bullet through the heart, Tony was still living. Talking. Standing there before Sherlock's very eyes.

His jaw dropped.

"John. Stab me."

John spun around and gazed at Sherlock in confusion. "What…?"

"You heard me. Take that surgical knife on the counter over there, and stab me. Right here in the heart."

"Wha-? No. I'm not going the stab you. Now you're turning suicidal. Tell me, what are the side-effects of the medications they're giving you?"

"I've wondered that myself, honestly. But this has nothing to do with their drugs. Just get the knife, and stab me. It's an experiment."

"Yeah, okay, 'experiment'. Nice excuse. I'm not doing it."

"Fine. Then I will."

Sherlock briskly walked over to the counter and grabbed hold of the knife.

"Sherlock! What are you - ? NO!"

John tried wrestling the knife away from him, but he was too strong. Sherlock ended up with a deep stab in his heart. He kneeled onto the floor with his head downward and his arm rested on his knee. Sherlock panted heavily and blood streamed onto the floor.

"Oh, no… God, no…" John whimpered, and started to jog towards the door. "SOMEBODY! HEL - !"

Sherlock tugged on John's pant-leg, stopping him. "Don't… I'm fine…"

"Y-You stabbed yourself, Sherlock! You can't be 'fine'!"

"No… Watch."

Slowly and steadily, Sherlock rose from the floor.

He cleared his throat and smoothed out his hospital gown. "You see? Perfectly fine…"

He took hold of the knife's handle, and forcefully extracted it from his body. "There we go, that's better,"

John only stood there, gawking at Sherlock - borderline fainting, actually. Sherlock just looked up at him with a look of content on his face, which gradually transformed into alarm.

"Oh God, John… I think…"

He hesitated. Would he believe him if he said it? He barely believed it himself.

_Whatever remains… must be the truth._

He closed his eyes, and drew a deep breath.

"I think I'm a vampire."

He then felt dizzy. The world faded to black, and Sherlock fainted onto the floor


End file.
